


The Perfect Bite

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one of Dean Winchester's most closely-guarded secrets</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Bite

Dean loves to eat. That's no shock to anybody that's known him for more than five minutes, but just about everybody thinks he's a typical American guy - into pizza, hamburgers, and occasionally a good steak. And all of that's awesome, he's not about to deny it. But there are lots of other kinds of food out there, and Dean wants to try all of it before he's through.  
  
Sam called him a foodie once - just once, before Dean made him shut up and take it back. He's not going to answer to some stupid yuppie hipster label like that, not going to flaunt what he's eaten and where and when and all that shit. It's enough that  _he_  knows that he doesn't like sea urchin but he loves fried crickets and he thinks he might have an ebi problem, but it's so good that he's never seeking help for it. When Sam starts dragging him to one restaurant after another, letting him complain about never getting a burger all the while that he orders edamame and injera with doro wat and tapas, well, that just makes Dean love him even more.  
  
They have lamb burgers in San Francisco, gumbo and poboys in New Orleans, and surprisingly good pho in Spokane, of all places. The strange places he's had exotic cuisine never fails to amaze him. After all, who'd have expected to find Ethiopian food in Texas? But Sam had, and he'd insisted on checking the restaurant out, just like he'd insisted on going to the Indian place in Des Moines. And all of them had been incredible. Dean had eaten until he'd felt like he was about to bust out of his jeans, gorged himself on sweet and spicy and delicious food, while Sam grinned at him like an idiot across the table.  
  
Just like he's grinning now. "Shut up," Dean tells him, pointing his fork at him. "I still can't believe I let you drag me here."  
  
"A salad once in a while won't kill you," Sam shoots back, just like he had when he'd first told Dean where he wanted to go for dinner. "Besides, it's supposed to be the specialty here."  
  
"Yeah, whatever." He take a drink of the really damn good microbrew that he'd allowed Sam to talk him into, silently giving thanks for Sam and his amazing Google skills that had led them here for supper. It's a converted boiler room in a basement, full of light wood and tapestries, and if the food is half as good as the atmosphere, then Sam's going to be getting one hell of a blowjob later.  
  
Dean firmly believes in rewarding good deeds.  
  
And from the way his smile widens as the waiter sets the plates down in front of them, so does Sam. Dean stares down at the huge plate mounded with green leaves, pepperoni, salami, olives, cucumber, and tomato. He can see cheese as well, and the menu had promised a red wine vinaigrette, but it hadn't said anything about the red powder that was dusted all around the rim. Sinking his fork in, Dean gathers up a little of everything, then swipes it carefully over the edge and takes a bite.  
  
Heaven. Sheer, absolute bliss. He groans faintly as flavors explode in his mouth, so many at once, but all of them working together for what has to be a serious contender for the most perfect bite ever. "Oh my God," he mumbles once he manages to get his brain working. "Sam, this is -"  
  
"Amazing," he agrees around his own bite of chicken caesar salad. Dean still thinks that was a pussy order, but apparently Sam's happy with it, so he doesn't say anything. Besides, this way he gets to keep his own salad all to himself.  
  
For a while, they don't really talk, just enjoy the food and beer and atmosphere around them. It's a rare moment of peace in a life that's been getting steadily more hectic and suckier as things have devolved, and Dean's glad that Sam seems happy to just sit there and eat with him. He tries to go slow, to draw it out and really savor it, but the salad's just too damn  _good_ , and his plate's empty way too soon.  
  
And then things go from great to freaking fantastic. The waiter clears away their plates and brings over a platter with a lit sterno can, graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate pieces on it. Holy fuck. Dean looks over at Sam with wide eyes.  
  
His brother just smiles at him. "I knew we had to come here when I saw that they offered s'mores for dessert," he says softly. "So eat up. Jerk."  
  
And because he can't ask him to marry him, Dean just says, "Shut up. Bitch."


End file.
